


to fight and to fuck too.

by beckdarkthrone



Category: KoRn (Band), Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Alcoholism, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Abuse, F/M, Korn (Self Titled), M/M, Maniggy - Freeform, Marilyn Manson and The Spooky Kids, Mental Illness, Portrait of an American Family, Self Harm, Self destruction, Sex, Sexual Assult, Smells Like Children, The Downward Spiral, all around just lots of fucked up shit, bisexual jonathan davis, bisexual marilyn manson, i have had this in my folder since abt 2015, its very self indulgent, manzor - Freeform, there will be more trent reznor, tw, tw rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckdarkthrone/pseuds/beckdarkthrone
Summary: Mansons internal wars have always caused destruction around him.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Jonathan Davis, Marilyn Manson/Missi Romero, Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor, Marilyn Manson/Twiggy Ramirez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. You don't love me...

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i have been writing this for over 5 years now, just a lil something for fun, but its gotten so large now i thought i might put it somewhere. i have REALLY tried to keep this to a timeline, but there are a few things out. it is set between 1994 and 1996ish.

**Twiggy Point Of View.**

I cringe internally as I watch Marilyn dig a broken bottle into his chest - I don't make my worries noticeable though, I just continue concentrating on my bass playing. Once he has finished hurting himself, I quickly glance at the damage and decide what medical treatment I'm going to need to give him after the show. Crap, they're DEEP. Marilyn quickly shoots me a terrified look when he realises the damage, but I nod in reassurance. We finish playing the set, ending with Cake and Sodomy and Manson 'pretending' to jerk me off, honestly I think I enjoy it too much. Marilyn screams at the crowd then stalks off stage. I meet him with butterfly stitches and alcohol swabs. I notice cuts up his wrists partially hidden by his tattoos, but I can tell they're there and that they were not done for a performance. He can see me staring and gets moody.

"What?" He snaps, crossing his arms so his wrists are hidden. I shrug and get to work on closing up his chest. I sigh when I see the cuts he did today opened up cuts he made last week and I hope they don't get infected. Marilyn reaches behind him and grabs a half drunken vodka and lemon bottle and slowly drinks it, watching carefully as I close up the 5 cuts on his chest.

'Hey thanks Twigs...' He mumbles, taking another sip.

I shrug. 'It’s what I do...' I mutter, cleaning up my mess I made.

Marilyn looks up quickly with a pissed off facial expression.

'What’s that supposed to mean?!' He snarls throwing down his bottle.

I step back, learning from past experiences on how to handle his mood swings.

'That’s what you do for someone you love' I state, throwing the dirty bandages in the bin.

Marilyn laughs 'you don't love me' he giggles, winking at me.

I shuffle my feet 'Yeah... I do...'

Marilyn laughs again, this time a little bit awkwardly, 'Nah you don't’ he says, turning to look at me. But suddenly goes silent when he realises I'm serious.

'Wait... Really?' He says, stepping back. I nod.

Marilyn stands there shocked then runs out of the room, to the tour bus, leaving me alone.

**Marilyn Point of View.**

I piss bolt to the tour bus and slam the bathroom door behind me and slump onto the toilet seat.

Twiggy loves me?! Not love, LOVE. NO-ONE can LOVE me. I always knew he wasn't fussy about gender when it came to relationships, he had been with a few guys before, sometimes with me watching, but in love with me?! Why?! I'm horrible, rude and obnoxious, I fuck, sleep, and drink my life away. Especially while trying to think if new ideas for this next album. I dig around in the cupboard under the sink for some form of distraction. I pull out a bottle of bourbon, taking large gulps as I think of this situation over and over. While doing this I absent minded pick at my freshly cleaned wounds, not caring about ripping them open, scarification is part of my personality as Marilyn Manson. With that thought I fell into a drunken induced sleep.

**Twiggy Point Of View.**

I silently crawl into the bus, trying to not wake Ginger and Daisy and Pogo. I quickly glance into Marilyn's bunk and sigh when I see it’s empty. Maybe he's out at a club, I hate it when he brings back drunk bimbos to have sex with. They only want him because his famous, not because they like him. Unlike me, I've seen the good, the bad and the really bad of him and I still love him. Maybe I shouldn't have told him. I mean, everyone knew that I was bi, but I don't think Marilyn saw it coming that I could love him, I hope this doesn't ruin the band. I fall into a restless sleep to the rhythm of Gingers breathing above me.

**Marilyn Point of View.**

I wake up and take a moment to work out where I am. I stumble out of the bathroom feeling the start of a hangover coming and ignoring the partial erection in my pants. I check the bus clock. 1:30am. I look around the bus to see if anyone is awake to come partying with me. Daisy is asleep quietly, still in his stage clothes. Ginger is snoring loudly, only wearing underwear with purple lipstick marks going into the waist band. I look at Twiggy for a while, studying his pained face as he sleeps. Maybe I... No! I can't like him. I'm not gay. Or bi... I don't think… I get changed into black jeans, black boots and a ripped, stained tank top. I storm off the bus, trying to clear my thoughts as I walk to the nearest club, thinking of what kind of girl I can get, to prove to myself that I have no feelings for Twiggy.


	2. I honestly don't care.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It continues...

**3 hours later.**

I hold her hips down as I kiss her wetness between her legs, telling her to shut up as I try to not wake anyone up on the bus.

She moans again and I sigh out of frustration.

'Shut up!!' I hiss, then going back to the sweetness between her legs. I shift uncomfortably as my erection becomes strained in my pants. Still with my head between her legs I open my fly, releasing it.

She sees my cock and screams in delight as I shoot her a furious 'SHUT THE FUCK UP' look. But it's too late, I can hear someone stirring. Fuck. Suddenly my bunk curtain fly’s open and there is a shirtless Twiggy staring at a half-naked me and a naked her. His face contorts into a look of pure pain as he runs into the bathroom and locks the door. I gather up the girls clothes and throw them out with her, apologising half-heartedly. I crawl back into my bunk replaying the scenes over and over till daylight swearing internally at the world wishing I was dead.

**Twiggy Point Of View.**

I sit on the toilet seat shaking uncontrollably. Why would he do this? Maybe he thinks it's a game. Maybe I'm just a game to him. I reach into my pocket and pull out my razor. It'd been many many months since I cut but I couldn't care less at the moment. I pull the blade across my wrist, feeling the shaking slowly subside at the sight of my own blood. I do it again and again, until I was free from the shakes. I lie back against the wall, feeling drowsy. I wonder briefly if I went too far with the cuts but before I could analyse them I passed out with my head in the cold sink.

The second I awoke everything that happened that night flooded into my brain in an instant and the pain hit me like a train. I spend over 20 minutes cleaning and checking over my cuts before I leave the bathroom. I nervously push a dreadlock behind my ear as I search for any sign of Marilyn. Both fortunately and unfortunately he wasn't to be seen. I slip into my favourite lime green dress and head out of the bus in search of Daisy and Ginger.

**Marilyn Point of View.**

I look down and see Twiggy's dreaded head storm out of the bus and down the street. I notice that his arms are all cut and bruised. I sigh, leaning back and l lie down on the roof of the tour bus again. Watching the 8 o'clock sun rise. I lean over and roll another 10 dollar bill and snort a small line of cocaine I got from Casey while at the club. I lie back down feeling the effects of the cocaine on my already irregular heartbeat. I wonder whatever happened to the girl I kicked out. I hope she got home ok. Actually, no I don't, she's not my problem. I feel a deep hole in my stomach. Not like the normal pain of depression, it was worse. Guilt. Guilt after not talking to Twiggy since he proclaimed his love. I stare up at the sky, trying to sort out my feelings for him.

**Twiggy Point Of View.**

I sit backstage after the show, looking at the mess I've made. I got so angry, Marilyn was walking around on stage like nothing happened last night. I smashed windows and threw makeup to the wall. I ripped apart the curtains and broke the coffee table. I sigh thinking of the price damage from this fit. Suddenly my door flies open and Marilyn steps in. God he's gorgeous. His black hair is messy from performing. He was only in black leather pants and I noticed an erection straining against his pants.

'What?' I say harshly, staring at him.

Marilyn looks at the horrible mess I created.

'I want you.' He states, stepping forward, avoiding a piece of glass in his bare feet.

I stand up, furious.

'You left me yesterday!! You don't want me, I'm not going to be like those girls you throw away!!' I say, tears sliding down my face.

Marilyn steps closer to me and I instantly step back, into the wall.

'I know Twigs I'm sorry... I've never loved a male before... I love you.' He whispers, stepping right in front of me, less than 1 inch away. Tears are consistently streaming down my face as I decide internally whether to believe him or not. Before I can respond he kisses me deeply. I try to pull away but he wraps his fingers in my dreadlocks, keeping me in place. I attempt to leave but his strong body holds me against the wall, with his erection pressing against mine.

'Marilyn no...' I mutter against his sweet lips.

'You want me to...' He whisper back, unbuttoning my dress.

'I always did love this one...' He mutters to himself.

He groans when he discovered I had no underwear on.

'Yes...' He mumbles when he sees my erection in front of him.

Marilyn brings his lips back to mine and fumbles for his zip on his pants. I take his hands and place them on my cock as I unzip his pants, freeing his own erection.

He steps out of them and pulls me violently to a reasonably clean space on the floor. One part of my mind doesn't want this to happen, but the other half is loving watching Marilyn take my pulsing cock deep into he's throat.

'Hands and knees now' Marilyn harshly snaps, turning me around.

I kneel in front of his, resting on my elbows.

'I want this...' I whisper, looking back to Marilyn.

Marilyn smirks harshly. ‘I honestly don't care whether you want it or not.'

The dominance of that statement sears through me and I gasp when he enters me - thankfully - slowly.


	3. This Emotion Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone unwanted makes an appearance, so ofc Manson does something dumb.

**Marilyn Point of View.**

I finish powerfully inside Twiggy and I fall back, lying next to already collapsed man.

He looks at me and smiles.

'Wow...' I whisper, stretching my arms and legs back.

Twiggy sits up and looks at me.

'What does this mean?' He asks, twisting a dreadlock in his fingers.

I think about it for a moment, looking down at my chipped black nails.

'We can keep it a secret? The fans would love if they found out we were together...' I mumble, still looking down.

'So... We are together now?' He whispers

I look up and Twigs Smiles at me, with a happiness I haven't seen in years.

I nod, a smile creeping on my face.

Suddenly the door swings open harshly and both I and Twigs try to cover ourselves. Pogo falls hard through the doorway and lands on the broken coffee table, behind him and larger man with a bald head and many tattoos walks in.

Twiggy gasps and scurries to the wall away from this man.

'Damon...' He gasps.

**Twiggy Point Of View.**

I push myself further against the wall hoping that this is a dream.

Damon. The worst relationship I have ever had. He was abusive, in every way possible. Manson only found out when I rocked up on his door step, limping, covered in blood and tears streaming down my face because I finally left him. 4 months ago. Manson never met him, till now. He glares at Damon then whips his head to me, eyes full of rage. He stands up and pulls on his leather pants slowly, not feeling self-conscious. Damon stalks in, standing chest to chest with Manson, towering over him. Both Pogo and I stare at the confrontation, feeling too scared to move.

'Get out.' Manson snarls, his lip curling.

But Damon isn't intimidated.

'And you are?' He asks snidely.

'I’m Marilyn Manson, and you are?'

Damon doesn't like anyone giving him attitude, and it shows. He starts quivering with rage.

'YOU'RE the cunt I lost my boyfriend to?!' He screams on Marilyn's face.

'I'm not your boyfriend...' I mumble, hoping he will hear.

Damon turns to look at me and steps closer.

'What?' He spits at me, staring me down.

I slowly stand up, pushing myself up against the wall.

'I’m not your boyfriend...' I mutter, a little louder.

Damon steps up to me clenches his fingers around my throat.

'YOU are MY boyfriend UNTIL I say so' he screams in my face.

I flinch and start to cry, trying to avoid looking in his eyes. Suddenly I am dropped and air is flowing back into my lungs. Marilyn stabbed Damon in the leg with glass.

'Guys come on!!!' Pogo yells, waving us out the door. I grab my dress and throw it on as we run from the room. We meet Daisy and Ginger in the bus and make them leave the concert hall.

We park in a car park near a park, safety away from Damon and his anger.

**Marilyn Point of View.**

'What the FUCK Twiggy?!' Daisy yells, breaking the silence.

Twiggy just sits looking at his high heel boots, shaking noticeably.

'Seriously?!' Daisy continues.

Twiggy just shrugs. I notice a tear drop from his face to his hand. No wonder he won't look up.

'Jeordie?!?' Daisy shrieks at him.

Twiggy stands up, hands in fists.

'DON'T CALL ME THAT!!' He yells then stomping off into the bathroom.

I sigh 'Now you've done it...' I mumble.

Daisy glares at me with rage.

'Done what?!' He spits at me 'You guys come running out, you covered in someone's blood after doing god knows what to someone?! Then we just leave!!' He rants.

I nod in understanding 'It was Damon...'

Daisy suddenly stops moving. Breathing. He's heard all the stories about Damon, at least the ones Twiggy is willing to share.

'I... Oh...' He stutters.

'He came to get Twigs back... He walked in on me and him.' I explain.

'What were you and Twigs actually doing before we came in?' Pogo pipes up, looking at me in interest.

I don't answer in embarrassment. I stare at a stained piece of carpet on the floor, feeling myself blushing.

'Ooooohhhhh...' Pogo finally realises, he stares down at his painted fingernails looking seemingly sad.

'I don't get it?' Ginger says, the first word he has said all night.

'Ye me either Ging...' Daisy agrees, looking at Pogo for an explanation but Pogo is still not looking up.

I shuffle uncomfortably still not looking up at anyone.

'Pogo I don't geddit...' Ginger whines.

Pogo doesn't answer him but it clicks in Daisy brain and he gasps.

'You... Twiggy... Did... IT?'

Before anyone can say anything Twiggy comes out of the bathroom, angry.

'YES Daisy we did IT, is that a problem?!' He yells, louder than ever before.

Pogo suddenly stands up and storms out of the bus and climbs on to the roof; my hiding space.

Twiggy stalks back into the bathroom and slams the door so hard the bus shakes. Both Daisy and Ginger are now looking around awkwardly, trying to understand the situation. I sigh and climb up the bus to see what is wrong with Pogo. He is facing away from me but I can see his chest shuddering with every breath. He is crying?!

'Hey uh... You ok Pogo... Or...' I trail off, not sure what to say.

He shrugs and wipes his face, smudging his already messy makeup.

We sit in silence for a while, tears streaming down Pogo's face the whole time.

I can't believe Pogo is crying, I was convinced for a long time that he had the capacity to be a serial killer or a sociopath, he never showed any feelings - positive or negative.

I gain the confidence to ask what is wrong again. I shuffle closer to him so we are side by side.

'Look Pogo, you know I'm not good with this emotion shit so... What's wrong?' I ask, then I think about how abrupt that sounded and sigh inwardly at myself.

Pogo looks up and me straight in the eye and I think he is about to tell me what is wrong, but before he can speaks he wraps his fingers in my long hair and drags my mouth to his. Before I can react his tongue is weaving with mine. I try pulling back but his fingers are so tight on my hair it's impossible, I feel so uncomfortable being dominated but I always knew Pogo was fiercely dominant; so I decide to wait it out.

Pogo pulls back, takes a deep breath and releases my hair.

We sit once again in silence side by side.

'I love you Brian...' Pogo finally admits.

It's been so log since anyone called my Brian, including Twiggy.

'I know but I-'

'You love Jeordie, I know' Pogo interjects before I can finish my sentence. I don't answer, I just nod, staring down off the side of the bus. Pogo moves closer to me and puts his head on my shoulder and kisses my neck. I don't move though, I feel bad for the poor guy.

I suddenly hear a gasp behind me and whip around to see Twiggy staring at Pogo and me.


	4. Instant Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Twiggs...

**Twiggy Point of View.**

I practically fall off the side of the bus ladder as I try to run from what I just saw.

Why was Marilyn letting Pogo kiss and touch him like that?! What happened up there?!

I pass Daisy and Ginger who are lying on a bed together on an acid trip together I think.

I slam the door of the bathroom so hard that I feel the whole bus move and I search around violently for my razor. Fuck has someone taken it?! They guys have tried to stop my habit many times by tossing my blades, but I always generally have a spare, but not this time. I start to go into a panic attack; I need to cut I can't handle what I've just seen, I've been with Marilyn for less than 2 days and another boy’s already touching him.

I finally find it in the back of a cupboard and instantly start onto wrist, ignoring the ones that were previously done. I can't believe how mad I get at Marilyn when he does this and my instant reaction is to do the same. Maybe I'll cut him some slack. IF I ever talk to him again. The image of Pogo kissing Marilyn's neck once again flashes in my mind and it makes my breathing hitch.

I jump when there is bashing against the toilet door.

'OPEN THE DOOR TWIGGY!!'

Tears start falling down my face.

'No!!' I yell, putting the blade to arm again.

'GODAMNIT TWIGGY!!!!!!' Marilyn hits the door even harder.

To show defiance I don't reply and do the deepest cut yet.

'FOR FUCK SAKE JEORDIE!!!!'

I drop the blade. He never calls me Jeordie. Not ever. I've always been Twiggy. I stand to open the door but my legs don't move and I fall straight to the ground. Fuck I've lost too much blood. I look down at my arms with blurry vision and realise the last one was too deep to be healthy.

I reach up and push the door open; nearly smashing it into Marilyn.

‘FUCK TWIGGY WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?’

He picks me up and drags me into the middle of the bus to get a better look at me. I’m am in too much pain to be embarrassed by the stares everything is giving me and my cuts. Daisy and Ginger have suddenly spaced back into reality.

‘MANSON WHAT DO WE DO!?’ Daisy yells, screaming at Marilyn as he looks helplessly down at me, curling into a ball because of the pain.

I lose consciousness.

**Marilyn Point of View.**

I sit helplessly in the waiting room. I can’t believe it took us 30 minutes before anyone even considered looking at Twiggy. Is it because we look like freaks? Yeah…

I glance a Pogo, shaved head and badly drawn on eyebrows. Daisy with his multi-coloured hair and boots to match. Ginger with his makeup smudged badly down half of his face. And me, with my leather pants and shirt that reads ‘no special rights for Christians’ and one milky contact. I see why we were not attended too…

‘Uh... Marilyn... Manson?”

I stand up so quick I get head rush and run straight to the doctor. He is taken back by my appearance as well as my name but continues.

‘Did you come in with uh…?’ He looks at his chart ‘Twiggy Ramirez?’ I don’t answer and stare at him waiting for news.

‘What is his real name?’ the doctor asks me, giving me no hints on Twigs condition.

‘Jeordie White. HOW IS HE!?’I snap, Pogo comes up behind me and puts his arm around my waist trying to calm me down, but I’m past that as tears start to pour down my face, which shocks the boys as much as it shocks me, I never cry. Ever.

‘He is going to be just fine, right now he isn’t though, he is going to need a lot of time to heal. What happened?’

I explain the best I can, leaving out the parts about our love and Pogo and the copious amounts of speed Twiggy took.

‘I see there was previous cuts and burns to his body?’ The doctor points out as a question.

Pogo sighs next to me.

“Yeah… he has been trying to stop lately… he hasn’t in ages but…’ I trail off quietly.

‘Had he had any previous thoughts of suicide that you knew of?’

Was that what it was? A suicide attempt? Because of me? Tears start streaming down my face again. Pogo answers for me ‘No, not that we know of Sir.’

The doctor motions me to follow him and we go to Twiggy’s room, thankfully everyone leaves us be. He has a drip in and bandages up his arm all the way to the shoulder.

‘Oh Twigs…’ I mumble and sit on a chair next to his bed, I hold his hand.

At my touch his eyes flicker open, he has no makeup on; it’s so strange to see, we very rarely wear no makeup these days.

‘Hey…’ He mumbles to me.

‘Hey baby… Are you ok? What happened? Are you feeling ok? I was so worried!!’ say so quickly I wonder if he heard me.

‘Don’t call me baby…’ He mutters, closing his eyes.

I stop, confused.

‘What?’ I ask, raising one eyebrow.

‘Don’t call me baby...’ he repeats ‘I’m not your baby…’

I let go of his hand. ‘I… Don’t … Understand’ I say slowly, trying to understand what he is trying to say to me.

‘Go be with Pogo…’ he murmurs, rolling over away from me.

I sit back, shocked as it feels like something has ripped into my chest, worse than any injury I have ever inflicted on myself in the last 10 years of my self-harming life. Twiggy’s breaths steady as he falls asleep. I don’t know how long I sit there watching him sleep trying to come to terms with what he just said to me. Maybe he was joking, he can’t truly think I want Pogo over him… Daisy and Ginger poke their heads into the room with stupid smiles on their faces, which drop instantly when they see me curled up in the chair with god knows what expression on my face. I am just so tired I haven’t slept in over 36 hours and even then it was for only a few hours in the bus.

‘He doesn’t want me…’ I mumble, putting my head between my legs.

Daisy strides in and stands next to me.

‘Sure he does Manson!!’ he says cheerily.

I shake my head ‘he doesn’t…’ I say in a pained voice.

Daisy still doesn’t seem to get it. ‘I’m sure he does, he’ll forgive you for what happened with Pogo, he told us all about it and Twiggy will be fine when you just explain what happened!” This time I ignore him, I’m not in the mood for this.

I stand up abruptly and stalk out of the room. I know what is going to happen to me, what I do every time something hurts me. Hurt myself more.


	5. Destruction is Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fuck every broken, crazy girl  
> Instead of hanging from my ceiling

**Twiggy Point of View.**

I roll over and see Daisy and Ginger in my room, no Manson, no Pogo. Probably together. Just the thought of them hurts my heart more than my arms right now. I look down and my left arm is completely bandaged. Well Twiggy, you fucked up this time.

“Hey Twiggs, you’re up! You fell asleep on Manson! He just left though like a day ago, you’ve been asleep a while, he was mad! Did you say something to him? He was muttering about how you didn’t want him anymore, I told him that he was being stupid because of course you want him! Right?’ Daisy says, going on and on. I ignore him, like I normally do.

Thankfully Ging is a little more considerate. “How you feeling man?’ he asks, looking at me closely. I shrug but then wince at the pain that causes my arm, I don’t make it noticeable though, I want to be out of here as soon as possible.

“Where’s Manson?” I ask.

Daisy butts in once again. “Since when do you call him Manson? Anyway I told you where he went, he just left muttering about how he’ll hurt himself more than you hurt him?’

My heart drops and I lose my breath. FUCK, I forgot he does that. I go into extreme panic mode. Whenever Marilyn gets hurt he goes on a self-destruction rampage. It happened with Nancy/Teresa and sort of with Missi, he binged for days on cocaine and alcohol, to the point of needing to go to hospital. He started to test his pain threshold, resulting in all the scars underneath his tattoos. I sit up suddenly and try to work out how to get this fucking drip out of my arm.

“Whoa, Twiggs, what’s your problem!?’ Daisy yells, trying to stop me from pulling the needle out of my arm.

“MARILYN! IT’S MARILYN! What did he do when Missi left him?’ I ask, hoping to get it to go through Daisy’s thick stupid skull.

Daisy thinks for a second. “Oh…”

I pull out the drip and rip off any other monitors restraining me to the bed. I see a bag that Manson packed for me and notice that my – and his – favourite dress is folded neatly on top. I grab it and take of my hospital gown, not caring that the two men were watching me get naked. Before I even get the dress over my naked body properly I storm out of the hospital room and right pass the doctors and security guards, no one tries to stop me thank god.

I step out into the cold morning and then realise I have no form of transport. Fuck. I’m going to have to catch a godamn bus. Where am I anyway? I look at the address of the hospital and thankfully I am only a ten minute drive from where we parked the bus while running away from Damon; it’s hidden behind a strip club and a bottle store. I make a stupid decision to just walk to the bus, it will only take 15 minutes longer and I have no time to wait for a bus. Half way home I start to feel dizzy and my arm throbs more than my heart beat. Whilst walking a take a sneak peak at my arm under the bandage and realise that in my rush to leave the hospital and Daisy and Ginger I tore open not one, not two but three stitches half way up my arm and its trickling blood. I apply pressure through the bandage hoping to stop the bleeding long enough to establish where Manson is.

I can see the bus but there seems to be no signs of life in it. Where the fuck is he!? I start to really panic now, he never left home when it came to Nancy and Missy so where the fuck has he gone NOW?! I sit down beside the bus attempting to stop the dizzying which is taking over my whole body. I put my head between my legs –ignoring my lack of underclothes- and try to regain my stableness. Where is he…

Marilyn Point of View.

I sit in the toilets of this shit club covered in glitter. Why wouldn’t the glittery girl leave me alone!? I try to get glitter off my dwindling erection, can’t believe I let her suck me off. That hurt Twiggy’s- NO! It doesn’t matter about him, he doesn’t matter, I don’t matter. With that thought all feelings, including guilt slowly but surely subside and I feel just numb. It’s been nearly two days, that’s all I need to get over him. Right? The cocaine I took hours earlier has basically worn off and my heart regains a steadier rhythm; as steady as it will get with my condition anyway. I stand up and take a deep breath, brushing my long hair with my fingers trying to look even a little bit presentable and go back out to the massive crowd- even though its 2pm. I instantly get hit on by tired goth girls. I only pay attention when one of them offers me acid. I don’t even stop to consider the side effects, I don’t care anymore. As soon as it fizzles on my tongue I notice the taste difference to the acid Casey gives us. This isn’t pure. Fuck Manson what have you done. I sit in the corner of the club and wait for the affects, either positive of negative. When I feel my feet slowly but surely sinking into the ground below me I decide it will be negative. I start to scream out for help but my screams are drained out by the music. I scratch and claw at myself and around me to stop me from fully sinking into the ground but my attempts are useless. In a moment of clarity I come to the realization that it’s not actually happening it’s a trip and I try to calm myself down. But the effects of the cut acid are stronger than my common sense and I still have the horrible sensation of sinking. I am suddenly aware of 3 slutty girls around me asking me if I am ok over and over but I don’t respond. If I move or breathe I’ll sink!

‘Heeyyyy he’s on a trip! Haahhahaha!’ girl one laughs.

‘Look at him wow!’

‘Get up!’

‘ARE YOU OK!?’

They keep asking me questions over and over until I can’t take it anymore and I start to scream and scream, flailing my hands and legs trying to get out of the ground, I sink deeper and deeper until I lose consciousness.

**Twiggy Point of View.**

I sit in the cold by the side of bus until that night. At 9pm, I see girls dragging a man out of the club, screaming, crying and laughing. I roll my eyes in anger- can they shut the fuck up!? I glare at them until I realise how familiar the man they are dragging looks. Marilyn. I jump up so sudden my head spins and my arm throbs but I ignore it, running towards the girls and Marilyn. I stop so suddenly in front of them I scare them and they drop Marilyn to the ground and he hits with a hard thud.

‘LEAVE HIM!’ I shout so loud I scare myself, I have never been dominant or assertive like this before.

‘Manson? Marilyn? Brian?’ I shake him hard, surely that will wake him up. But he doesn’t move, his eyes don’t flicker. I listen to his heart through his shirt, its irregular as always but it’s worse than normal.

‘Oh God… What have I done…’

I grab him by his arms and drag him all the way up to the bus and kick the door open- they never lock it no matter how many times I beg. I place him on the floor in the middle of the bus, where I lay not 2 days ago. I search my bags for my mobile; I never use it, the people I interact with tour on a fucking bus with me for Christ sake. I check the date whilst looking for either Daisy or Gingers number, we have a gig in a few hours, FUCK! I ring Ginger and I have to ring 4 times before someone answers.

‘Yyyyeeeessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss?’ He answers, then giggles to someone with him.

‘GINGER HELP ME ITS MANSON!’ I yell.

There is a silence on the other side of the phone.

‘Ging?’

‘OH RIGHT YEAH IM HERE WHAT!?’ He yells over the music in the background - Black Sabbath.

I repeat it over and over again, not just to Ging but to anyone who will listen. I end up hanging up out of frustration, he wasn’t listening. Too high, drunk, something. I sit on the floor with Manson as I wait for something to happen, for him to wake up, moan, and blink or anything that isn’t utter stillness. I scarcely notice the hot tears streaming down my face, why do I cry so much over this selfish and self-destructive man?

Eventually, his eyes open, slowly. He moans in pain and confusion, trying to establish his surroundings.

‘Where the fuck am I?’ he mumbles, trying to sit up.

I push him back down, trying to keep him lying down ‘you’re on the bus, please don’t move.’

He blinks at me, still trying to work out where he is.

**Marilyn’s point of view.**

Once I finally wake up 100% all the memories flood back, the club, the hospital, everything.

‘Get the fuck away from me... ’ I mumble, attempting to shuffle to the back of the bus, out of Twiggy’s arms.

He drops his arms instantly, his face contorting in pain.

‘You left me… You LEFT me… YOU LEFT ME!’ I explode, screaming louder than I ever have on stage.

Twiggy opens his mouth to explain but it suddenly cut off by Pogo, Ginger and Daisy storming through the door, so fucked up.

“We got to perform in an hour guys!!!’ yells Daisy, rushing around the bus, undressing in front of us.

I scramble up quickly and pull off my clothes, allowing my glitter stain to be in full view of Twiggy. He looks at me sadly but I ignore his pain. He. Left. Me. I pull on a pair of baggy pink shorts over my stripy tights then roughly pull a brush through my knotted hair, ignoring everyone in the room.

‘Oi Manson, you ready!?’ Ginger says, trying to rile me up.

I shrug, moving to the ‘kitchen’ of the bus, searching for something to eat, I can’t remember the last time I ate.

Whilst I eat some old bread I found in the cupboard someone violently knocks on the door- our manager.

“SHOW STARTS IN 30 GET YOUR DRUGGED UP FUCKING ASSES OUT OF THERE AND ON TO THE FUCKING STAGE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD.” He yells then stalks off into the stadium just down the street. I’m the first to storm out of the bus and walk off without paying attention to anyone else.


	6. I've changed since you left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Manson's past sees what he has become

I stand on stage with the boys around me as the crowd rolls in. We got it good this time, the place is packed. I’m surprised how large out fan-base is, we have only released two albums and we have enough to fill a medium venue. This would be the time where I turn to the boys and make a snide comment about how I’m going to get sucked off tonight, or how hard my dick is, but I don’t even turn around, or make a noise.

Ginger starts playing, and the guitar for Cake and Sodomy starts. I let out all of my anger in the lyrics of every song.

“I SCAR MYSELF YOU SEE, I WISH I WASN’T ME” As I scream this I take a piece of glass and cut over my healing wounds Twiggy covered up, I can’t even feel the pain anymore. The crowd seem to love seeing me I pain, so I give them a real show. I pick up my mic stand and toss it into Ginger’s kit. He looks at me in anger, tossing it back with more force, it gets me in the face. I play the rest of the show with blood pouring into my eyes. 

Before the last song has even 100% finished I storm off stage and back stage in my own room, slamming the door so hard the mirror on the back of the door shatters. I halt suddenly when I notice I’m not alone. Missi. She looks at me with desperate and earnest but in the shit mood that I am currently feeling I couldn’t give a fuck about what she wants. I walk straight past her and to a towel hanging on the wall; wiping my face and all the blood off my forehead.

“I watched your show…” she mumbles, turning around to face me, but I ignore her.

“You aren’t looking too well… A lot thinner…” she continues on, still looking at me intently even though I’m blatantly ignoring her presence.

“And you hurt yourself more on stage then you used too…”

I turn to her – surprising her so much she jumps back.

“Yeah, well, I have changed since you left me Missi.” I say harshly, not worrying if I hurt her feelings.

She nods in understanding “I know I know and I’m sorry…”

I laugh inappropriately loud. “Sorry? SORRY!? You rang me while I was gone and left a voice message to tell me that you were gonna leave me because you didn’t want me anymore!” I explode. 

In that instant my room door opens and Twiggy walks in, but as soon as he sees Missi he escapes the now awkward situation – wise idea, I turn my attention back to the now crying girl in the middle of my dressing room. I don’t feel any guilt though.

“I know… It was so wrong of me Brian but I couldn’t stop thinking of you and I had to come and see you… Tell you that I still love and need you…”

I sigh angrily “Don’t call me Brian. I am not Brian anymore. There is no Brian. I am Marilyn Manson. I’m not wimpy and pathetic, I am what children have nightmares about and what parents warn against. DO NOT call me Brian ever again.”

“Ok… Marilyn… Got it…” She mumbles, sitting on the disgusting couch behind her, trying to avoid broken bottles of alcohol and my stage props.

“I want to get back together with you. I can tour with you, I can even be on stage with you again, I miss performing. I will be more understanding of your… um… lifestyle.”

I laugh at her “lifestyle!?” I muse in disbelief.

“The drugs, sex, alcohol and… self-harm…” she replies, answering my not meant to be answered question.

I sit on the floor next her to feet and look up at her. Do I want to get back with her? I mean, I miss her, and I loved her at one point. But I have Twi- No, no I don’t.

“Ok, ok Missi, we can get back together, it will be great to have you back on stage, I’m sure the fans miss you, you are a great performer.” I say in an overformal tone, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

She bounds off the couch and lands right in my lap, kissing my makeup and blood smeared lips. I grab her hair tightly and have the roughest sex I have ever encountered. I don’t think it was because I wanted her, it’s my escape from my feelings.

**Twiggy Point of View.**

I slam the door as soon as I see Missi’s face staring back at me with tears in her eyes. WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING HERE!? I stalk off down the long hall into my room and close the door. Taking off my dress I slowly think over all the reasons why she would be here. Maybe to get him back? He wouldn’t, he went so off the rails when she left. He hated her, and hated everyone, hated himself and the world. Would he go back? The more I muse over the situation I decide I hope he shuts her down and the he bursts into here and proclaims his love. That idea is crushed when I listen carefully and hear Missi’s strained moans of pleasure and Manson’s furious grunting, the noises he made when we were together. I sink to the ground and sit with my head between my knees. The pain in my wrists is taking over me and the ache in my heart. I look at my wrists and see the blood seeping through. The bandages need to be changed, thankfully I have practice in that with all the times I patched up Manson, I suppose Missi can do that for him now, they are healing alright, it’s been a few days already.

**Marilyn’s Point of View.**

I make my way back to the tour bus, leaving Missi alone to do whatever she needs to do. I have no idea what has happened. These last two weeks have been crazy and I haven’t had any time to gather my thoughts. Do I want to be with Missi? Or do I want to be with Twiggy? I’m not sure I can even get him back, he might not want me after what has happened and I am sure he heard me and Missi, it would have been impossible to miss! I hop on the bus and see Daisy and Ginger with groupies next to each other and Pogo reading a book titles ‘the perfect murder’, now that’s the Pogo I know. I ignore Daisy and Ginger and climb onto my bunk above them both. I pull my journal out of my pillow and look at it. It’s been weeks since I have written, and it was mostly drunken ramblings anyway. I write about everything that has happened in the last two weeks, it helps me think and work it out. As soon as I put it away Twiggy storms into the bus, and ignoring Daisy and Ging like I did he climbs onto my bunk and sits in front of me, staring. I can’t help but examine his beautiful face. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. His pupils are overly dilated so that means he is on something. His makeup is perfectly done; why did he do that? He has no one to impress? He has put on my favourite lime green dress. I groan internally, he knows what that dress does to me. He is doing this on purpose.

‘Do you like?’ he asks, gesturing to himself.

I moan, ‘Of course I do… You KNOW I do…’

He laughs, but not a happy one, a sad defeated laugh. ‘Yeah… I know…’

We sit in silence and look at each other, neither of us game enough to start THAT conversation.

I speak up first, I hate this feeling. ‘Twiggy what do we do…’ I mumble so no one can hear, not that Daisy and Ging are paying much attention anyway.

‘I want to be with you Marilyn. I want to be yours, I want to share bunks, do drugs together and party all night. I want to fuck you whenever and however I want. I want you to be MINE. Not some groupie, not Missi’s, MINE.’ Twiggy says boldly, with more confidence than I have ever seen him display. Then in that moment I knew I wasn’t meant to be with Missi, or Pogo for that matter. Twiggy loved me for me. For all the drugs and blood and swearing. For my on stage antics and off stage dramas.

What the hell do I tell Missi? I’ve hurt her enough in our friendship this really isn’t any different, I won’t let her know now though, too much energy for me to do that right now, I’m always exhausted after shows but I don’t want to sleep, I need to find some cocaine… that’ll keep me up till night-time tomorrow night.


	7. Bi-Sexual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi Jonathan Davis

**Jon P.O.V**

I stand at the door of this small tour bus that’s rundown but has a few seats stuck to the roof, that’s a great idea. I knock on the door but no one answers, people said that Manson can be a dickhead but he wouldn’t be ignoring me would he? I knock again and a strange looking man with multicolour hair and no clothes on answers, a half-naked girl grasping his arms – this must be Daisy.

‘Um hey, I’m Jon, from Korn, I saw your show tonight, and I wanted to say hi?’ I say as I see him looking me up and down, from my thigh high suspender tights and leather pants to my short dreaded and messy hair.

Daisy smiles largely at me ‘oh hey man come in!’ he says enthusiastically, pushing the desperate women off his arm. I follow behind him as we walk into the dimly lit bus. When my eyes adjust I can see another naked man having sex with what looks like the sister of the previous female and scary bald man reading a book about murder. Who I am really looking for is Manson. Daisy rips a curtain across revealing a skinny Manson and his bassist Twiggy sitting uncomfortably close.

Manson just stares at me, like I have interrupted something super important.

His face turns from disgust to interest when he sees what I am wearing and my tattoo ‘HIV’ on my arm.

“I’m Marilyn Manson, who are you?” He asks me, jumping out of the bunk and re-adjusting his leather pants, fuck, he is tall.

“Jonathan Davis, from Korn, you heard of me?” I ask, praying he says yes.

Manson smiles at me “Yeah I have, nice band name” he laughs and I wonder whether he is mocking me or not, but I let it go.

“Ha yeah, anyway, I’m gonna go out to a club now and was wondering if you wanted to come?” Its only 1am so I couldn’t think why they wouldn’t want to.

Manson starts taking off his pants – to which I see he doesn’t wear underwear – and grabs a pair of black jeans from behind him “Give me 5” he says, stalking off into the bathroom.

Twiggy smiles at me – even though I can tell its fake and malicious and follows Manson to the bathroom.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the bus with the bald guy still reading and Daisy and his friend have gone back to their sisters, I decide it’s better to wait outside.

Why was Twiggy so nasty with me? I literally don’t know the guy for fuck sake. Before I can continue over thinking Manson joins me dressed in black jeans and a half top that highlights his hundreds of self-inflicted cuts and scars, frankly its impressive.

**Marilyn P.O.V**

Walking with Jon to the club down the street I can’t help but think about what Twiggy was saying. I don’t even know why he is jealous; I don’t even know this Jon kid so why would Twigs need to worry? I mean, I guess he is kind of attractive in a weird way. His thigh high tights and leather short shorts are something I would wear so I give him points for creativity.

“You ok or?” Jon asks pulling me out of my thoughts

“Oh yeah, sorry” I say quietly

Jon clears his throat awkwardly “hey look, tell me to fuck off if this isn’t my place, but… are you and Twiggy like... a thing? He was giving me a look and I don’t want to get in the way of shit if he’s like protective or nothing…” He trails off quietly.

I sigh “Yeah don’t worry about Twigs, he’s… paranoid, which is understandable” I laugh sadly, Jon looks at me with confusion.

“Only a few hours ago I fucked my ex and before that Twigs left me because Pogo proclaimed his love for me, we’ve been together for less than a week” I explain, laughing internally at how fucked that truly is.

Jon doesn’t answer, and we walk in silence the rest of the way to the club, I can already hear the loud music blaring out the door.

“Hey you got coke?” I ask

**Twiggy P.O.V**

I pace outside the bus back and forth for hours. He has got to be kidding me, we just go back together and he is going to a club with another man? A man like him, strong, damaged and most of all, beautiful. I can’t believe it, maybe I was stupid for believing he could leave his partying lifestyle for me. Just as a slowly begin to calm down and scantily dressed Missi comes waltzing towards me.

“Hey where’s Brian?” She asks me, smiling sweetly.

I glare at her in anger and annoyance.

“Out.”

My tone seems to upset her “Hey Twigs, why so bitter?” She asks me, standing next to me. Rather than lie and say nothing I decide she needs to hear it.

“Because me and Marilyn were working our shit out and getting back together and you had to fucking come back and now I have to compete with you as well for his attention, not to mention his new friend he just made, they’re probably fucking as we speak.” I say angrily, gripping my dress tight.

Missi laughs “Is this new friend a girl? Marilyn doesn’t like men Twigs, so I don’t know what relationship you thought you and Marilyn had but he likes women.”

Now I laugh at her “Really? You know nothing, Marilyn likes men, Marilyn likes me, and I am a man, you don’t believe me? Ask Marilyn about the great sex we had only last week” I reply forcefully, internally enjoying the shock on Missi’s face.

“Marilyn is… -”

“Bi-sexual” I abruptly finish her sentence.

**Jon P.O.V**

I finish the line that Manson has set out on one of the tables in the club and I watch him as he snorts one. He likes men? That’s interesting… Maybe I have a chance? How do I subtly mention to him that I like women and men too, I mean surely my tattoo gives off a little vibe and the song ‘Faget’ for fuck sakes. We both sit back on a couch in the corner of the club and watch the slutty girls dance and make out with each other while letting the drugs course through our bodies, this is the best I have felt in a while, it’s been a long time since I did anything except alcohol. One of the girls start to look at Manson and smiles and I feel anger run through me.

“Oi bitch, fuck off’ I yell, surprising Manson, but he shrugs it off, like he is used to women looking at him 24/7, well…. If you are that beautiful I guess you would be used to it. I shake all thoughts like that out of my head, it’s been a long time since I have found any man attractive, I need to slow down, I have only known him for a few hours for god sake, by the end of the night I could hate him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lil formatting change, my apologies.


	8. Faggots and Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes back to bite Manson

**Marilyn Point of View**

“Oi bitch, fuck off” Jon yells at a woman who is looking at me flirtatiously. God that’s weird, I shrug at him showing that I don’t care if women look at me, I’m committed to Twigs, even if he doesn’t think so himself. 

“What’s with your tattoo?” I ask Jon, trying to start conversation.

He laughs “I got called “faggot” a lot as a kid and teenager and shit so I thought it was a good irony, I don’t actually have HIV, I think” I look at him confused, why would he even think he might!? “I fuck around a lot” He admits, going red.

I feel my dick twitch at that statement for some reason, I subtly try to push it down and laugh to hide my own embarrassment.

“What about your tattoos? What do you have and want in the future?” He asks, finally breaking the awkward silence.

“Um… I have this tree I drew for a cover and some dick head stole my design so I got it tattooed as a trade mark” I say, showing him my wrist, completely forgetting the scars and cuts that are currently healing.

“Fuck man, what you doing?” Jon asks, grabbing my arm and looking closely.

“It even goes into the tattoos further up your arm!” He follows the marks all the way up to my elbow.

“Yeah, I did them in class in like… grade 9 or something, with a pen knife.” I say, shrugging it off

Jon stares a little bit longer and then gives me back my arm, not seeming at all phased. Before I can start another conversation with him Twiggy and Missi come storming into our part of the club, glaring at the naked women as the stalk towards us.

“How could you?” Missi hisses at me, looking around, I stare at her confused, and shoot a look to Jon who is equally confused.

“Yeah, how dare you?” Twiggy joins in. I glance between the both of them, making a mental note of everything I could have done wrong but coming up blank, I can tell Jon is doing the same thing, he is very observing for someone who has only known me for a few hours and only known of me for a few weeks.

“What the fuck?” I ask, not knowing what to say to these two angry people.

Both Twiggy and Missi start yelling and swearing at me for being a liar and a cheater and a flirt and so on. I listen to them for a few minutes, feeling the anger rise in me, before I snap.

I stand up, taller than both of them “BOTH OF YOU, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCK OFF, I DON’T WANT OR NEED EITHER OF YOU, I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH EITHER OF YOU, YOURE BOTH MORE TROUBLE THAN YOU ARE WORTH” I scream at them, storming past the both of them, heading for the exit. Before I get there I feel a strong hand on my arm, Jon, but rather than pull me back he holds on as we both walk out of the club.

**Jon P.O.V**

I sit and watch as both Twiggy and this woman I don’t recognize start to yell and Manson, he doesn’t seem to want to respond, he is just listening patiently. I try to make out what’s going on, Twiggy is sure than Manson is cheating on him with Missi and myself and Missi thinks that Manson is lying scum but before both can finish, Manson snaps, screaming at both of them and stalking past the naked women and both of his mad lovers, leaving me alone with two sets of hateful eyes. I jump up as quick as possible and grab onto Manson’s arm, following him out.

“Let’s get drunk” Manson says, and it takes me a few seconds to realise he wasn’t asking. I quickly consider whether I should warn him about my terrible habit with alcohol, I am almost certain I could drink him under the table, but I decide against it, he can find out for himself.

We wander out of the club and past the carpark where his bus is parked, then even further to another set of clubs and pubs. As we walk through the strip, we are met with glaring and adoring eyes as I consider what this would look like to someone else. Two men, one wearing tight black jeans and a black half top, with hundreds of scars poking out from underneath, and the other only wearing female stockings and leather shorts with lace up boots, walking suspiciously close and clearly off their faces. I giggle at that thought and surprise myself, I haven’t laughed since before the band started this tour and with that thought I begin to wonder what the rest of the band are doing. I can only assume Fieldy is as drunk as I am going to be and Munk and Head are off their face on meth. I wouldn’t even know what David would be doing right now.

“Here” Manson announces, pulling me out of my thoughts, as we walk into a larger and louder club than the one before. We walk straight past the guard so I’m assuming Manson comes here a lot, does this guy even sleep?

Within minutes, we have both downed 5 jack and cokes, clearly a drink Manson does not do that often, judging by his facial expression every time it touches his tongue, I haven’t informed him it’s my drink of choice. I once did 30 in 10 minutes however I don’t remember much else of that night, only that I ended up biting Fieldy so bad he still has the bruise on his arm.

As I chug down another drink, I briefly consider whether my drinking is turning into a serious problem, but before I can dwell anymore on it, two girls come strolling over to us and surprisingly Manson takes no interest, no matter how many times they touch his thighs or play with his ass length hair. They move onto me next, twirling my dreads in their fingers and playing with the strap on my suspender and to my surprise, it looks like it makes Manson angry, surely I am imagining it. To test my theory, I put one hand in one girls’ hair and the other around the second girls’ waist and wait for a reaction. Manson glares down at his hand, picking at his black nail polish, well holy fuck, he looks hurt. I abruptly remove my hands as quick as I placed them there and order us another round, ignoring the girls completely.

**Marilyn’s P.O.V**

I relax when Jon moves his hands off these tramps, why did it even bug me, I’ve known him for less than 6 hours for Christ sake, get your shit together Manson.

We spend the rest of the night and early morning, drinking and talking about everything, from music to our childhood.

“Yeah, I had this fucked grandfather that owned all this screwed up pornography and things, probably why I’m as sexually deviant as I am, I also had this next door neighbour that touched... “I trial off; I’ve never considered myself a sexual abuse survivor per se but it’s a strange thing to talk to a stranger about. All of a sudden pain contorts Jon’s face before he regains control.

“I was abused as a child too, by this totally fucked up bitch, I hate that cunt as much as I hate my fucking step mother” He spits, grabbing himself yet another jack and coke. How the fuck can he drink so much? I stopped drinking hours ago, and I think Jon notices me contemplating his drinking habits.

“Uh, yeah, I have a problem with drinking… Just be thankful I didn’t bite you…” he mumbles as I stare at him confused, but he doesn’t explain.

I don’t as any questions though, everyone has their coping mechanisms and he doesn’t seem to self-harm like I do, so who am I to judge.

Jon glances at his watch and sighs “It’s 8am, I really should go back, David, Munk, Fieldy and Head are probably wondering where I am…” He says, standing up.

“Munk? Head? Who?” I ask, confused

“Oh, yeah, they are my band members. David is on drums, Munky and Head on guitars and Fieldy on bass, you want to meet them?” Jon asks me as we stroll out into the morning sun. I nod, while shielding my eyes, I don’t remember the last time I saw the sun rise.


	9. Prozac and Xanax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rock and Roll Nigger indeed

**Jon P.O.V**

As we walk to where my band is staying, I begin to wonder what Manson thinks of me now that I told him I was fucked as a kid. My heart beat starts to race and stomach knots as I feel the depression roll over me, I can’t even think about that stupid whore without having a freak-out. I push it down and save it for the stage, people seem to love it when I lose it on stage, when I finally can be free and let all that fucking pain and aggression out.

As I approach our tour bus, parked on the other side of the stadium, Munky and Fieldy come strolling out, and I contemplate what Manson would see. Fieldy, a large white man who seems to think he is black and Munky with hair similar to mine and a dark complexion, but a heart-warming smile.

“JON! Where the fuck have you been?” Fieldy yells at me as he approaches, a massive smile on his face.

“Guys, this is Marilyn Manson” I introduce Manson to them, as Head and David join us. He stands awkwardly behind me and waves slightly.

“Bring him on the bus man” Head yells, waving us in.

I almost drag Manson in and sit on my part of the bus, a little bed and bed side table. I rummage through my drawers until I find what I’m looking for, my Prozac, my best friend. Throwing down a pill I begin to tell the guys about the great night I had.

Marilyn P.O.V

I sit down next to Jon and watch his curiously as he searches for something, and smiles triumphantly as he pulls a bottle of pills out. Prozac. Man he is more fucked up that I could ever imagine, it’s fascinating, I just want to ask him all about it but before I have the chance he begins to tell his band mates about our night, leaving out the fact I was in a gay relationship with Twiggy. Fuck, Twiggy, he must be worried sick about me, or not, doesn’t really matter either way as memories of me leaving both him and Missi flood back. I sit confused as Jon continues to ramble, evaluating my feelings about my life at the moment. On one hand I don’t have the emotional capability to be in a long term committed relationship, with either Twiggy or Missi, so that allows for some calmness, however, I don’t WANT to hurt Twiggy…

“You ok man?” Munky asks me, as I realise all of the men are currently staring at me.

“Uh, shit, yeah I am, thanks” I mumble, smiling.

“You want to go back to your bus? Come on, let’s go” Jon says, throwing on an Adidas tracksuit jacket and pants before we leave, we have been sitting in his bus chatting all day, fuck, when was the last time I lost track of time like that. Pain benders, that’s the last time.

As we walk, Jon turns to me “You on any medicine?” He asks me

I laugh “No, but I probably should be!” 

Jon shrugs as a response with a smile.

“Why? Are you?” I ask, even though I know he is, it just seems more polite than asking why he takes some serious antidepressants

We stop beside my bus and Jon leans casually on it, looking sexier than I could have imaged.

“Yeah, I’m on Prozac and they are thinking of putting me on Xanax or some shit, I don’t know, my shrink has all these ideas about what I need to get better and all these plans to achieve it but honestly I have no clue what she is on about” he says with a smile. Why the hell is he smiling? Getting to know Jon will be more confusing than I could have imaged.

“They sorta stabilize my mood and make me feel giddy as fuck, not happy per se, but they at least stop me from being suicidal.” He continues as we climb on to my bus, and surprisingly no one is here. I panic suddenly, IM MEANT TO BE ON STAGE AT 5!! I search for a watch, or a clock or anything to tell me the time, and Jon offers me his wrist with his chunky watch. FUCK ITS 4pm already!!

Without an explanation I pull off the clothes I am wearing now and search for something to wear on stage, coming across the leather pants I was wearing yesterday. As I pull them on I vaguely wonder when I last showered, not coming up with an answer.

“You gotta go on stage soon dude?” Jon asks, twirling one of his dreadlocks, something he has been doing all night but I have never really payed attention to.

Jon notices me staring at his finger as it twists a lock of his hair. “Oh, yeah, nervous habit. My shrink says that I do it to keep the attention directly off me or something.”

I start walking out of the bus and to the stadium “Yeah I have a fucking show in an hour” I say, not looking behind me, but I know Jon is following me.

“Oh cool, can I stand side stage to watch?”

His question halts me, fuck what would everything think? Oh fuck everyone else.

“Yeah, sure, you can come and join me for a song if you want? Do you know the cover we do of Rock and Roll Nigger?” I ask Jon, wondering if he has actually payed attention to any of our shows as I start walking towards the stadium again.

“I love that song, one of my favourites off your last album, I’d love to join you. Just let me go get changed and I’ll meet you there”. Jon leaves before I can even answer him, twirling one of his dread again.

Walking into the stadium through the back I storm onto the stage, where Twiggy and the rest of the guys have already set up.

“You’re fucking late Manson” Twiggy hisses at me, testing his bass. I ignore him and take my place behind the mic.

Less than a minute before the set starts I yell “BY THE WAY JONATHAN IS JOINING ME ON STAGE FOR ROCK AND ROLL NIGGER” and before anyone can complain Ginger has already started the drums for Cake and Sodomy.

We continue our whole set as normal and I notice Missy in the front row, just staring at me. Fuck, I promised her a spot back on stage, seriously can’t people leave me the fuck alone.

We get to the last song, and I begin to mumble “and the spreads it’s legs for another fucking star, I am the all American antichrist…” as a cue for Jon to come on stage, I know he is waiting, I saw him staring at me the whole time while I was performing, twirling his hair and playing with his -honestly hot- outfit. Jon struts on stage with a microphone wearing a kilt and nothing else, continuing on with the lyrics

“I was made in America, and America hates me for I am, I am your shit, you should be ashamed of what you have eaten, IM A ROCK AND ROLL NIGGER”

Throughout the song, I stand closer and closer to Jon, and to test him, myself and most of all Twiggy, I bend down and lift up Jon’s skirt while we both sing, wondering if he will let me see what’s underneath. The crowd, used to me trying to suck people off on stage love it, I don’t even glimpse to see what everyone else thinks.

Surprisingly, Jon doesn’t stop me, when I pull up his skirt, put my hand underneath or search for his dick with my mouth. He flawlessly continues the song. I stand up as the song finishes and throw the mic side stage, grab Jon’s mic and do the same, before grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the stadium, to our tour bus. I climb on the top of the bus and sit down, still puffing from the show, I think I’m going to start needing oxygen after shows.

We both sit in silence for a while, Jon re-dreading his hair as I absently pick at all my scars.

“I like you” Jon says nervously not looking at me.

I don’t answer him; I just look right at him. The more I look at him the more fascinating he becomes. He is most definitely funny looking, but in a gorgeous and sad kind of way. He is pretty thin, holding himself in a way like he is always second guessing himself, but in a confidently disturbed kind of way. The more I look at him, the more attracted I get. Fucking hell, since when did I have feelings, let alone emotionally intimacy with more than one person at a time. This is not normal for me, I need to do more drugs, cut myself more or something, I’m not made for these kind of feelings.

“I like you too, I think” I trail off

Jon turns to me, pulling a cigarette out of his kilt pocket and lights it up.

“You think?” he wonders

I begin to think of a lie to hide that slip up of my feelings, I don’t really even tell Twiggy about how numb I am most of the time, and my lack of ability to deal with real feelings. But I then realise if anyone was to understand...

**Jon P.O.V**

I take another drag of my smoke while I wait for Manson to answer. I can’t believe I told him I liked him, I can’t believe I let him suck me off on stage, it’s YEARS since any guy has been with me. Not since I experimented in high-school. In my defence, I always been too numb to feel anything for anyone, and my lord he is attractive.

“I don’t know how to interpret or understand or convey feelings…” he begins, playing with the butterfly stitches on his chest. I would have loved to see that cut when it was fresh, it already looks about a week old but clearly Manson likes to agitate his cuts judging by how badly most of them have scarred.

“Are you still with Twiggy?” I ask the most obvious question

Manson continues to pick at his cuts, frowning a little bit. “I don’t want to be with him… He doesn’t fit with my personality, I seem to be as stone cold as ice but really deep down, I’m emotional, I need emotional support but I also need to be accepted for the fact that sometimes I just don’t want to feel”

I fidget with the cigarette in my hand, I’ve never understood someone so well.

“Well…” I start, getting his attention, “I’m a very sensitive person, that’s why I have so many problems, I’m too nice to people and its always me who ends up being fucked in the end, so I’d like to think that I would be a good person to understand what it’s like to be a little bit emotional and how you can struggle with that…”

Why the fuck am I being so open? The only time I ever tell people this is when I write about it, or sometimes tell my shrink, however she tells me that my music regresses me because it makes me re-live my abuse and suffering every time I perform on stage.

“Look” I continue, as it becomes clear that Manson isn’t going to make any plans or advances “Let’s just leave us be ok? We can be best friends, who occasionally suck each other’s dicks on stage, but no need to make a commitment ok?” I decide. Manson looks up at me, with a cold blank face – clearly his defence mechanism towards feelings he doesn’t understand.

“Deal” he says.


	10. Taking a break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " I’m in so much pain, emotionally and physically. Twiggy stitched up my cuts again – of course I ripped them out. He is getting so annoyed at me for doing that, I like to watch them bleed. I’m still so fucking mad at Missi for leaving me, I mean, I only feel that in the short times of sobriety I have when I wake up before I start the drugs again – like now. Not for much longer. "

**Marilyn P.O.V**

After an awkward hug from Jon, he climbs off the ladder and walks back to his bus on the other side of the bus, probably to prepare for the next leg of his tour, we have technically performed our last show but I think I will ask my manager to keep this tour going, and hopefully just follow Jon wherever he goes, or at least let me take some time off to tour with Jon. But I need a break from this band, from our music, from Twiggy and the rest of the guys, and especially from the disaster that is Missi. I hear the guys climb into the bus, unaware that I’m sitting on top of it. Good. From the looks of the sun coming up I assume it’s around 4am, meaning the guys will be going off to sleep soon, in preparation to drive home. In that split second, I made the official choice to not come with them. There’s nothing for me in New Orleans anyway, just drugs and hookers, which you can get anywhere.

When I’m 100% sure they are all asleep I creep silently onto the bus, and collect what’s left of my belongings. A few pairs of pants, a couple of tops, my diary and some pens. Without even glancing back, I throw the bag over my shoulder and slowly walk to Jon’s bus, thinking of everything that has occurred in this last month. Started a simple tour, fell in love with Twiggy, fell out of love, fell in love again, met Jon, chose Jon. I’m not designed for these forms of emotions, I’m designed to be ice cold, manic depressive and simply emotionally unreachable.

Once I get to Jon’s bus, I see him through the window, still awake, writing. He sees me staring and waves me on, but motions to be quiet – I assume the rest of the guys are asleep. I climb on quietly, passed the big guy who pretends to be black and a darker skinned guy with dreadlocks, I can’t remember any of their names.

I sit next to Jon on his tiny bed and lie back, dropping my bag under the bed.

“What you doing here?” he casually asks with a smile, going back to the scrawls on the page.

“I’m… taking a break from the band…” It sounds weird to say aloud, something I never thought I’d say. The band is my everything, music is my everything.

Jon continues writing fiercely “Huh… Want to chill with us? There’s always room for another creative mind here, we are actually going to start recording our first album in a few weeks” He says, stopping writing to play with one of his dreads.

I smile inwardly, “Yes that would be cool, I just need to clear my head” – and my heart.

I lie back, and fall asleep to the scratching of Jon’s pen on the page, does he ever fucking sleep?

**Jon P.O.V**

I pull a pen and paper out and sit back, thinking of what to write, I don’t know what to write, all I know is I need to. The feeling of manic is slowly subsiding and now I just feel like shit. It’s a calming feeling, I don’t know how to function without the pain. I look up and see Manson staring at me, bag packed and sitting on his shoulder. I wave him in, curious to what he wants with me, I mean I only saw him a few hours ago.

After deciding that he was going to tour with us, he falls asleep almost immediately, while I begin to write furiously. This is the only way I can get out what I feel inside, no one understands it, so music is the way I describe it. The rest of the guys have tried to understand, but whenever I play fucked songs, like Daddy, it just makes them uncomfortable, or sad. When I first performed Daddy, Fieldy cried, Fieldy. I mean, it was in response to the mental break I had while singing, nothing new, but a grown man cried. As soon as I begin to think even slightly of that stupid cunt that touched me I feel like lead has been pumped into my veins, and my head begins to burn. I hate what the thought of her does to me, it just kills whatever is left inside of me.

I finish the lyrics to a song I’ve nicknamed Helmet in a Bush, which is what we see down there when we take too much meth. I’m not sure if I should mention to Manson this bands meth habit, to me it seems the heaviest shit he has ever done is coke and lsd, not that that is a bad thing.

**Twiggy P.O.V**

I wake up and my watch informs me its 2pm. When I fall out of my bunk that rouses Ginger, Daisy and Pogo, and we all drag our asses up in preparation to head back to New Orleans to start writing our next album. In a sleep-induced haze, I tear open the curtain on Manon’s bunk to inform him to wake the fuck up, only to find it empty, with all his stuff missing, and a note, in his scrawled handwriting. _“Don’t wait up, see you in a few months”_.

**Manson P.O.V**

When I awake, the bus is moving. I drag myself up only to realise that Jon is asleep on me, however none of the guys on the bus seem to notice – or care – that they have two grown men hugging in the back of their bus, they just continue on with that they are doing.

One of them – I think his name is Head, is fixing one of his braids while cutting up powder that doesn’t look like coke or anything I’ve ever seen before, it’s the wrong colour, its fucking dirtier than simple coke. He sees me staring and smiles.

“Dude, do you want some? It’s meth” he informs me, before putting a 20-dollar bill to his face and snorts the whole line. I watch with awe and uncertainty. Jon was sexually abused and is damaged as all hell, they take meth and they haven’t even done their first album? What fucking bus have I gotten myself onto.

I lie back on the bed, trying to not wake Jon, who looks content while sleeping. I analyse his face while sorting out my feelings on the inside.

“Do Jon and MM have a thing?” I hear one say to Head quietly, thinking I can’t hear. 

“Yeah, I think, I’ve never seen Jon this comfy with anyone, we have known him for years and he is only just ok with us, he’s already sleeping on top of him for fucks sake” Head answers, but seemingly in a caring tone, no malice at all.

I keep staring at Jon and wonder what I am doing. I’m on a bus with 5 strangers, on my way to somewhere I’ve never been, this has to be one of the most reckless things I have ever done. But the more I stare at Jon’s sleeping face, the less I care, I may have actually found someone who can look out for me, put up with my emotional abuse, and deal me back some of the pain I deserve, as well as unconditional love for who I am.

**Jon P. O. V**

When I have finished writing, I wipe away all the tears that have gathered, I knew I shouldn’t have tried to re-write Daddy, it always fucks me up. Last time I tried to write it I almost threw myself off a building, Munky had to hold me back. That was the _first_ time I was put on suicide watch. I put my books back in my bag and start getting ready to sleep until I see Manson’s bag slightly open, and a book hanging out. I check to see if he is asleep, which he is, and so are the rest of the boys – so I pull the book out and open on the first page.

_I’m so fucking sick of everyone and their everyday fucking lives. They want ME to stop playing? How is what I am telling them anything worse than what they teach their kids about religion? At least I’m not telling them to fucking be afraid of a fucking imaginary man that will strike them with lightening. I will be louder than a fucking god, I’ll be louder than the fucking devil._

I re-read this twice, godamn he is angrier at the world than anyone I’ve ever met.

_Missi left me today. The fucking cunt, she left me a message. Saying it was because I was never home. Well fuck you I don’t need her shit anyway. I don’t need anyone, I don’t need anyone to fucking hurt me anymore, I am the only one who is allowed to hurt me, and good god I can hurt me._

That explains all of his cuts, it’s a wonder he isn’t dead.

_I’m in so much pain, emotionally and physically. Twiggy stitched up my cuts again – of course I ripped them out. He is getting so annoyed at me for doing that, I like to watch them bleed. I’m still so fucking mad at Missi for leaving me, I mean, I only feel that in the short times of sobriety I have when I wake up before I start the drugs again – like now. Not for much longer._

I feel a pang of guilt for reading his diary and put it back in his bag, lie on top his sleeping body and pass out instantly.

When I wake, Manson is wide awake, looking out the back window of the bus, playing with his hair – letting me lie on him. I sit up slowly, ignoring the massive head rush I get because I’m sober.

“Hey” I say casually, ignoring the giggles from Munky, as he observes the situation. Manson only responds with a sly smile.

Rubbing my eyes and pulling on my dreadlocks anxiously I look around trying to work out where we are.

“Where the fuck are we?” I ask David, who is steering.

“Near Indigo Ranch” He mumbles back, concentrating. Shit I forgot that’s where we are recording. Our new producer Ross insists on it, but apparently, he is also a real fucking hard ass, something I suppose we will find out today.


	11. Indigo Ranch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit is about to get a lot harder for Manson.. and Jon.

**_4 months._ **

**Jon P.O.V**

I toss down the microphone and just scream, at no one in particular.

“Again Jon” Ross yells from through the glass

I punch my hand through the table and scream again, tears pouring down my face.

“No” I almost plead, staring at him through the glass.

“Again” he says, staring the music in the headphones again. I glance at Manson who is sitting in the control booth, watching with anxiety.

_“Little child, looking so pretty, come out and play, I’ll be your Daddy. Innocent child, looking so sweet, raping mine, and on your flesh, I’ll eat. YOU RAPE.”_

As I perform this song for the millionth time so Ross can get the ‘emotion’ right, I feel everything falling apart, every barrier I have ever created against what happened to me. Everything I have ever done to not breakdown every time I think of that cunts face, raping me, just disappear and I begin to melt, meltdown in front of these people.

_“I really fucking hate you. Fucking, you mother fucker, I fucking hate you, fuck you, you bitch, you fucking ruined my life. You mother fucker. “_

As the tears pour more and more, I fall to the ground and in my mind, I relive everything that happened to me, the pain, in great detail. The suffering it caused, the guilt, the hate, the feelings that I have had to deal with for 20 years.

Everyone sits behind the glass and watches me freak out, with the mic still recording. After an indeterminable amount of time, I slowly pick myself up and stride out the door, past control booth and straight to the make-shift kitchen, straight for the bottle of Jack. Tossing down a third of it I throw myself into the corner, pulling hard at my dreadlocks, trying to catch my breath and regain my thoughts.

Manson walks in, looking beautiful, wearing tight leather pants, huge metal boots and a tight black tee.

“Jon..” he starts, but I just shake my head, pulling harder on my dreadlocks, opening the bottle for another swig – or 10.

Manson slides against the wall opposite me and just watches me. He does that a lot.

**Marilyn P.O.V**

I just watch Jon as he nearly finishes – another – bottle of Jack and continues to pull hard on his dreadlocks, waiting for him to speak. I worked out that’s the trick when he goes into one of these episodes, just wait. He reaches inside his pocket and grabs a cigarette out, and lights up, tears still streaming silently down his face. God Ross is a cunt, he doesn’t fucking know all the damage that this album is doing to Jon, he doesn’t have to see him go home at night and drink a whole bottle of alcohol and scrawl nonsense writings without sleep, simply because if he sleeps, he has nightmares.

“I can’t breathe” Jon mumbles to me, taking a stuttering breath through his cigarette.

“I know Jon…” I answer quietly, moving closer – slowly – to him.

“I fucking hate Ross, I fucking hate that cunt, I fucking hate myself, fuck” Jon bursts out, throwing his cigarette to the floor.

Before I can answer, Ross walks in – observing the scene in front of him.

Jon, crying against the wall with an empty bottle next to him, me, crawling on the floor to comfort him.

“That was good Jon” Ross simply says, picking up the still lit cigarette from the floor and taking a drag.

“Fuck off Ross” Jon replies, wiping his tears.

Ross ignores the malice in Jon’s voice and smiles, the sadist.

“We need to record more Jon, let’s go” He says, turning and leaving for the control booth.

**Jon P.O.V**

I haul myself up, ignoring the pain in my chest and the headache I am developing. When I start walking I start to feeling the effects of the Jack, as I try to walk straight. Manson stands behind me in preparation to possibly catch me – like he has had to many times before.

By the end of this fucking album, drinking has become an occupation, and music was almost getting in the way of my drinking habit. Every afternoon I make myself puke to make more room for the alcohol I was going to drink that night, as well as the speed habit I’ve also started.

After the last session of the day everyone fucks off to do what they normally do, leaving Manson and I alone in the studio, me half smashed out of my mind and Manson so exhausted he is barely functional. I wonder if he misses his own band, he hasn’t made music or written lyrics in months.

I spin around on the chair enjoying the head rush and watch as Manson sits against the wall with a blank page and a black pen – concentrating.

“Gonna try write again?” I mutter in my drunken state. Manson shrugs still staring at the page.

“You miss your band?” I ask, trying to press him into talking. He shrugs once again.

“Fuck dude, talk to me!” I yell, sick of his shit. He is patient and kind and puts up with me and my shit but lately he has been distant, way too distant.

Manson looks up at me with cold, hard eyes and tosses his pen and paper away, stalking up to me. After staring at me for a brief second, he climbs onto my lap and plants his mouth on mine, kissing me deeper than we have in months. I wrap my hand in his long black hair and pull him closer. He bites hard on my lip and moans quickly, and as quick as the kiss started he ends it, leaving me breathless.

“Yeah, I miss the band. I miss making music and touring and cutting myself on stage and being the most damaged in the group” He laughs but his face suddenly darkens.

“I don’t miss Twiggy though… Or Missi, I don’t want to have to face them again” He mutters.

**Marilyn P.O.V**

I finish my little confession and throw myself back down on the floor, my boner uncomfortable against my skin-tight pants. Jon sits there surprised and dishevelled after I straddled him.

“Do you want to go back?” Jon asks me quietly and I shrug once more. Deep down I know I do, I have a blooming band just waiting for me in New Orleans and I am here at Indigo Ranch because I have two exes waiting for me and a beautifully damaged guy sitting in front of me.

Hours later I watch Jon as he sleeps on the couch, passed out from all the Jack he threw down moments before. I make the choice to go back to the band, hoping that it doesn’t mean I’m choosing music over my relationship with Jon.

I stand up silently and begin to pack up my belongings, hoping to leave in the morning. I watch Jon sleep for the rest of the night, and half of the morning. When he finally rises, he grabs his head and moans in pain.

“Fuck I’m hungover…” He groans, searching for something to numb the pain. After searching for a few minutes in one of his drawers he finds a little bag of already cut meth and snorts a quick line.

He sits back on the bed and sees me fully dressed, with my bag all packed.

“You’re going back aren’t you?” He asks me even though he already knows the answer.

I nod silently.

“Is this the end of us?” He mumbles, playing with a lock of his hair, beginning to grind his teeth.

I shake my head slowly, a question I had been debating for hours. “It doesn’t have to be, I’ll only be in Louisiana. You know where I will be…” I say quietly.

Jon nods, playing with his dreads more anxiously.

“I will not go back to Twiggy” I answer his unspoken question.

A ghost of a smile flitters across Jon’s face but leaves as soon as it arrives.

I pick up my bags and kiss Jon quickly but leave before I change my mind.

**Jon P.O.V**

Marilyn walks out the door quickly leaving me alone in our room. With the meth coursing through my veins and my extreme hangover I feel physically like shit, now my emotions are catching up.

Hours later Head comes in to tell me we are beginning recording, and finds me curled up on the couch with tear pouring down my face.

“Fuck dude what’s going on?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

“What the fuck seriously where is Manson?” He asks again trying to get a response out of me.

“Gone” I mumble almost silently.

Head finally realises that he has left and we sit in silence for a while until Munky comes to look for both of us.

“C’mon guys, Ross is in a mood and we have to get shit done” He complains, going back to the recording room.

Head gets up and with one last glance, leaves me.

I search for the last of my meth in my drawer and finish one more rail before heading off to record.


	12. New Orleans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Orleans is about to suck his soul away

**Marilyn P.O.V**

I walk into the recording studio – an old mortuary – and find Trent playing video games in the front room, Twiggy snorting coke with Casey, Daisy playing his old jaguar guitar, with Ginger watching and Pogo reading a book on the 10 worst serial killers in American history. Pogo looks up suddenly and smiles.

“Holy shit” He says quietly, standing up and evaluating me.

“You look like shit dude” He whispers, hugging me.

I laugh, a strained laugh. I know I look like shit, I was lucky to eat every two days, I haven’t slept properly in months and all my clothes are the ones I used to bring on tour with me. I look like a zombie.

“I can’t believe you’re here, what have you been up to?” Pogo asks, letting me go and sitting back down.

I sit on the floor near him.

“Was with Jon and the band while they were writing their new album, just been… Hanging around I guess” I answer, nonchalantly, twirling a lock of my hair around my finger – a habit I suppose I picked up from Jon.

All the other guys have joined Pogo and I, evaluating me from all angles.

“I am glad your home…” Twiggy murmurs, before leaving again. I look at Pogo for any explanation, and he shrugs.

“Twiggy has actually been pretty good dude, writing, sleeping, playing. Looking healthier, he hasn’t hurt himself since you have been gone either” Pogo explains. It brings a very slight smile to my face.

“If you will excuse me” I say quietly, following Twiggy. I find him sitting on the couch in another room, playing his bass quietly, he does not look up when I sit next to him.

“I am sorry” I whisper. I never say sorry, ever, to anyone. I do not feel anyone ever deserves it, but Twiggy does. Twiggy is different.

I hear Twiggy sniffle as he rubs his eyes.

“I am sorry too” He mumbles, “I am sorry about all the horrible things I said, I was not thinking straight. Missi got in my head a little bit I suppose”.

Fuck, Missi, I have not thought of her in months.

“She is fine, she went back to Florida. I do not think we will hear from her soon” Twiggy explains, answering a silent question.

“We will not get back together Manson, you know that right?”

I don’t answer, I just stare at Twiggy’s face, waiting for him to continue.

“We obviously aren’t good for each other. We were together for a month, and we both nearly died, and you had to run away to deal with it. You either do not have enough feelings or explain your feelings enough to be with me” He explains.

He is right, after 4 months stuck at the ranch, I don’t have any feelings. I am a fucking cold shell, with a distain to any physical or emotional connection – and I like it that way. I nod in agreeance, and sit back with my head against the wall, closing my eyes.


End file.
